{with partner in crime Bonnie Rakhit at Ellenborough Park Hotel}
Sorry for the fairly prolonged absence.
I’ve been so busy galavanting around the country I forgot to actually write about it (awkward)
*So after some nudging and some prodding – and a direct message from my digital mentor Marianne which read something like ‘…you’re not posting enough …stop partying …get to work’ – i’m back.
With a vengeance.
With an Aston Martin DB11 (borrowed).
Bonnie and I hooked up with our Aston Martin DB11 on a frosty Tuesday morning in Clapham.
We paid lip service to the manual, pawed at the paddle shifters, played with the electric seats then spent a good two minutes discussing what sport-plus brings to the party… answers on a post card? After a quick outfit change (i’d packed a sand-hued mini-skirt which matched the car interior a treat) we piled our cabin-sized wheelies into the boot and headed to the Cotswolds.
Confashion: fueling up a twin-turbo, 5.2 litre V12 sports car wearing over-the-knee boots at Beaconsfield Services will make you feel like a rock star.
Bonnie and I arrived at Ellenborough Park – nuzzled into the Cotswolds like a scene from Candleshoe – excited to see inside our digs and desperate to see inside the mini-bar.
nb. we hadn’t anticipated quite how thirsty we’d feel after a two hour drive totally nil by mouth for fear of spoiling beloved DB11.
My own car has haribo rammed into every side pocket and a boot lined with tins of ‘survival’ diet coke and miniature dime-bars – this car had a glove box we couldn’t open and complimentary water in the back seat – so it was all fairly alien to me.
The Ellenborough Park hotel is part of the Mr. and Mrs. Smith luxury hotel group so front of house were ready and waiting to usher us inside, greet us with warm smiles and lubricate us with chilled champagne.
Course we were ready to capture each other climbing out the driving seat in 120 bursts so that was a bit awkward.
There’s something quite magical about this place.
Two words: Miss Marple.
At Ellenborough Park, the floor-boards creak and the wood panelled walls talk. Corridors are gallery lit and gloriously decorated in gilt-framed portrait porn. The four poster beds are enormous and quite frankly I could have stayed in mine for most of the mini-break. Bonnie has strong banter so that was never going to happen.
We were there mid-week, and while the hotel was at capacity it felt incredibly quiet – well til we revved the engine for a photo shoot the next morning. It’s the kind of hotel you want to escape to, the kind of place you can snuggle up by the fire and drink wine in, our kind of place.
Breakfast of champions non?
Living for furry-lined Dune London boots and an even fluffier French Connection shearling leather jacket.
Realness: We decided to make the walk to the spa our cardio sesh. And on the the walk back we lasted all of ten minutes exploring the grounds before decamping to the grand hall for gossip, a granary sandwich and MORE WINE.
There are two restaurants at Ellenborough as well as an informal gallery space where we loitered for tea/biscuits.
We ate in the more formal Beaufort Dining Room on the first night and the casual brasserie the second.
For photo purposes my Beaufort supper of roast cod, curried cauliflower, baby spinach, salsify, golden raisin dressing and fizz translated way better thought the lens than the steak and chips I hoovered on the second night. FYI: Both were sublime.
LET’S GO BACK BONNIE, LET’S GO BACK!
L x
Huge thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Ellenborough Park, Aston Martin and Bonnie Rakhit
ph. Bonnie Rakhit and myself
in collaboration with Aston Martin and Mr. and Mrs. Smith. All words, styling and content my own.